A Dark and Stormy Knit (Black Sheep Knitting Mystery) (27 page)

“I couldn’t tell one way or the other,” Phoebe cut in. “She never mentioned Charlotte.”

“Oh, puh-leaze . . . of course she knew. Women can sense these things. We can sniff it out. He might have a huge vocabulary, but he’s still a dumbbell.” Suzanne went back to her cup, patting her mouth with a napkin after each sip.

“He wouldn’t be the first man—or woman—to think he was fooling his spouse.” Maggie picked up her knitting and sat back against the love seat. “So, along with the yarn they found in his studio, his goose is cooked.”

“Not entirely . . . but the DA likes this guy,” Dana noted. “Healey has no alibi and a strong motive for the murder with Charlotte breaking up with him. His bad blood with Sonya Finch gives him a reason to frame the Knit Kats, too. He was close to Charlotte and must have known she was a Knit Kat. Maybe he tried to make it look like the group turned on her? And if that’s not enough, he’s done some fiber art. You already told us that, remember, Phoebe?”

“Yeah, that’s right. He’s mainly a sculptor. But he’s done these big wall hangings. But it’s not really knitting,” she pointed out.

“I’m not sure the prosecutor is going to worry about whether it’s knitting or weaving . . . or plastic lanyards that kids make at day camp.” Dana slipped her glasses on and took out her knitting. “So far, Healey is the best they can come up with. And they’ve connected him to the crime scene.”

Maggie checked the time. On Saturdays she didn’t open until ten. They still had a few minutes before customers came in. She wanted to hear the rest about Healey.

“Is he still in custody?” she asked.

“Last I heard. The police can hold him for twenty-four hours without charging him. But he has a good lawyer, Richard Scherer, who’s trying to get him out.”

“Gena Healey mentioned that—she seemed to trust the lawyer they found,” Phoebe added.

“How about Gena? Is she going to stand by her man? Or let him swing in the wind? She must be in total shock from all these nasty revelations about her husband. Even if they were estranged.” The latte was drained, the cup covered with the plastic cap again. Suzanne took out a slim compact and began reapplying lipstick with the aid of a tiny mirror.

“She was flipping between hysteria and staring into space,” Phoebe recalled, “so it’s hard to tell. She did say she was going to stick with him and fight. But she didn’t seem very hopeful.”

“There isn’t much to be hopeful about right now.” Maggie sighed and counted out the stitches on the top row of her work. She wasn’t sure she’d reduced this row properly, she’d gotten so distracted by the conversation.

“They have kids, right?” Lucy asked.

“Two boys,” Phoebe replied.

“That’s too bad. It’s always hardest on the children.” Suzanne shook her head as she put her lipstick away.

“Yes, it is.” Dana’s tone echoed Suzanne’s sympathy. “Some new information may come to light. But it’s hard to see how Healey can talk his way out of this now.”

Maggie was about to speak when she heard someone’s phone ring, playing lilting bars of classical music. One of the Goldberg Variations? A speedy one, though she couldn’t identify it by number.

Dana pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the screen. “A text from Jack.” She opened it and read it quickly, then looked up at her friends, her expression somber. “ ‘Latex glove found at crime scene matches Healey’s DNA. Police due to charge H. soon.’ ”

Suzanne gasped. “Game over.”

Lucy seemed less surprised. “You called it, Dana. You said they needed to find physical evidence that ties him to the crime scene. I can’t see how he’ll talk his way out of this now.”

“Now a glove? Gee . . . I’m like blown away,” Phoebe admitted. “I know it might be him. I mean, it sort of makes sense. But I can’t believe it. He was always so nice and encouraging . . . and so . . . not that guy who would kill someone. And not in such a crazy way . . .”

Phoebe’s shock and delayed reaction were understandable, Maggie realized. She knew the man personally. He was her adviser and mentor. It was hard for her to believe her mild-mannered professor was capable of murder.

Before this horrible situation, the worst offense one might have accused him of was giving a boring art history lecture. Or wearing a checkered shirt with a tweed sports coat.

“Of course you’re shocked. You knew him well. He was your adviser and you saw him at school almost every day. Everyone at Whitaker is going to have the same reaction. Especially in the art department,” Maggie reminded her.

Phoebe nodded, looking a little sad and confused. “It’s funny, I didn’t feel the same when the police were questioning Professor Finch. She has that weird laugh . . . and I always had the feeling she had a secret mean side.”

Maggie could relate to that assessment. She’d felt the same about Sonya Finch ever since they’d met.

“I know the yarn thing is serious. And the shoe prints. And the glove sort of nails it,” Phoebe continued. “But that evil-attorney idea caught my imagination last night, and if it’s Healey, how does the money fit in?”

“I thought of the money, too,” Lucy said. “I’m sure the police are wondering the same thing.”

“I don’t think they’re done looking into his financials. Maybe they’ll find a red flag there,” Dana noted.

Suzanne shrugged. “Maybe the money has nothing to do with the murder. Maybe that’s a whole other ball of wax and this was purely a crime of passion. A lover’s revenge. If he couldn’t have her, nobody could.” Suzanne’s dramatic tone matched her fresh slash of red lipstick. “Hell hath no fury like an art professor scorned,” she declared.

“I don’t think that’s the
exact
quote . . . but we get the idea,” Maggie said with a wry smile.

“Yeah, well . . . love really must be blind. Otherwise, why didn’t he realize the blonde in the bedroom wasn’t Charlotte? It was Beth. Duh? . . . That’s the part I don’t buy.” Phoebe sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “He should have known what Charlotte looked like by now, even in a dark bedroom . . . especially in a dark bedroom.”

Her friends exchanged quick glances. Maggie was the first to reply. She could see that Phoebe still didn’t want to believe
Healey was guilty, though the evidence was piling up and hearing about his secret side had been disappointing. Still, she had to agree. Healey mistaking Beth for Charlotte didn’t seem logical.

“It does make you wonder . . . and it would probably make a judge or jury wonder, too.”

“But if the police believe they’ve got their man, they’re not going to look any further,” Lucy pointed out. “The fiber in his studio, the footprints, and the glove . . . that’s enough. Right, Dana?”

Dana nodded, focused on her knitting. “Definitely enough to charge him. They’ll build a case from there.”

“And if he didn’t do it. And it was some crooked attorney, let’s just say,” Phoebe speculated out loud, “then the real killer is off the hook. Because the police aren’t going to keep looking when they think they have the right guy.”

“That’s true, Phoebe.” Dana looked up. “But there is one way we would all know for sure. There’s always a chance he might confess. Professor Healey isn’t a hardened criminal. He might feel guilty or give in to police pressure. He might make a deal to plead guilty to some lesser charge, in order to get a reduced sentence or avoid life in prison.”

“Eek. What a fate. It all sounds pretty dreadful to me.” Suzanne shook her head and picked up her purse and knitting bag. She was going to show houses today, Maggie guessed. She could predict fairly accurately from her outfits. Today Suzanne wore a striking combination, a mustard-colored wool coat with shiny black buttons, a long, multicolored scarf she’d knit herself, and black wool pants. Large sunglasses were perched on her head.

“The Whitaker campus must be in an uproar. I can think
of one person who must be happy, though.” Lucy waited a moment. “Sonya Finch. She pretty much blames Healey for ruining her life. Certainly, for ruining her husband’s life and making her a widow.”

“A disabled one,” Maggie reminded her. “Sonya Finch isn’t shedding any tears over this news. She might be disgraced and even fired, but Healey’s fate looks even worse right now.”

Before anyone could answer, Maggie heard a tap on the window. Two early-bird customers peered in and gently smiled when they caught her eye. Maggie checked her watch and jumped up from the love seat.

“Good gravy . . . it’s five past ten. I have to let a few paying customers in. Sorry, ladies. You can hang out here and dish as long as you like. You all know that.”

Sometimes she wished the shop could be for her friends exclusively. But then she knew that was silly—she loved to help dedicated knitters and turn novices into true believers.

Despite the temptation to linger and solve this enigma, her friends quickly dispersed. They all had places to go and people to see this morning, too.

A few minutes later, it was just her and Phoebe . . . and the customers. Their knitting gang would return soon enough, she was sure.

Until then, it was time to get down to business. Saturday was the busiest day of the week. The bright sun and slightly warmer temperature today had brought out all the hibernating knitters. Maggie and Phoebe raced from one end of the shop to the other all morning, with barely a break.

But the revelations and questions about Professor Healey
lingered at the edge of her thoughts—and were in Phoebe’s as well, Maggie guessed. Would the police find even more damning evidence? Would he confess? Or plead guilty to a lesser charge? It seemed far too early for that, Maggie thought. But sometimes, these things moved very quickly.

It really depended on how much evidence the police came up with, and how persuasive they were. And how skilled Healey’s attorney was. Maybe he wouldn’t let his client make a bargain no matter what the police produced. Phoebe had pointed out some interesting inconsistencies. Maggie was sure a good attorney would see them, too.

It was almost three before the flow of customers ebbed. Maggie had asked Phoebe to look up some simple scarf and hat patterns. She was going to help a customer who led a Girl Scout troop and wanted to give them knitting lessons. The woman would be in soon. Maggie had already gathered some yarn for the projects.

But when she peered over Phoebe’s shoulder, she didn’t see knitting patterns on the laptop screen. Phoebe was reading a news article and from a financial website, no less.

“Working on your investments? I thought you were going to find those patterns for me.”

“Oh, right . . . I already did. The copies are in that folder.” Phoebe pointed to a yellow folder at the end of the counter, then glued her gaze back on the computer.

“What are you looking at? I’m curious,” she admitted, peering over her shoulder again.

“Well . . . sort of embarrassing to admit it, but I’m back to the evil-attorney theory. I was checking out the law firm where Charlotte worked. They have a huge website, pretty impressive.
I didn’t understand half of it. Make that three-quarters,” Phoebe added modestly.

“Just legal jargon. Don’t be intimidated. Go on,” she encouraged her.

“I was just snooping around and hit some links. They have loads of news articles posted about their big deals and high-profile cases.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Did something spark your memory? Something Charlotte told you about?”

“Yeah, sort of. A while ago, Charlotte told me about this special job her supervisor asked her to work on. She said they only asked a few of the best proofreaders and she’d get extra pay. She wasn’t allowed to do it at home. She had to go into the office in Boston and sign all these privacy agreements and it like lasted all night long. But they gave her car fare and dinner, and she was going to get a lot of extra pay, so she thought it was worth it.”

“So she went in and did the job?” Maggie asked.

Phoebe nodded. “Yeah, but she made some huge mistake and ended up having words with the supervisor, and he fired her on the spot. She was really upset. She’d never really screwed up before. She said it really wasn’t fair. She’d liked that job—it worked out well with her classes and doing her artwork. And she really needed the money for school and all.”

“Of course. What happened? Did she make an appeal and get her job back?”

“No, she didn’t. But she showed me an article in the newspaper a few days later. About this big merger, two software companies in the Tech Belt up here. She said that was the legal agreement she’d been proofreading, all the documents that had to do with it. That’s why it was so secret. If anyone
knows about a merger like that, they can make a ton of dough on the stock market.”

“Yes, I know. They say the Securities and Exchange Commission is always watching for that sort of thing. But I do think a lot of people get away with it,” Maggie speculated. “Not anyone we know,” she added with a laugh.

“No . . . but . . . I don’t know. I just got this odd feeling when I saw the article that it had something to do with Charlotte having all that money in her locker. Like some crooked lawyer at her firm took advantage of the merger and somehow Charlotte got involved? Maybe he gave her the money to hide or something?”

Maggie considered it. “I suppose it’s possible. Though there isn’t much evidence to go on in that direction right now,” she added.

“Yeah, too far-fetched. I’m just trying to connect dots here that don’t really relate.” Still, Maggie saw Phoebe hit the print button to make copies of the article and the references on the law firm’s website.

Two customers were walking in, and she put on her shopkeeper’s smile to greet them. She and Phoebe would talk more about this later, she thought.

The afternoon was busy enough not to be boring but not so busy that they were run ragged. Just the way Maggie liked it.

She was just getting ready to close the shop when Detective Mossbacher walked in. Maggie met his glance, and he spared a quick smile. “Mrs. Messina, how’s business?”

“Life is good, Detective. It’s Saturday, and everybody wanted their knitting supplies. And it’s just about closing time,” she added—though she didn’t mean to sound like she
wanted him to go. She was pleased to see him again, she realized. “What brings you back? More questions about knitting styles?”